


Affinity

by CaraSavage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, NOT a student x teacher romance, Slow Burn, sexual content much later, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraSavage/pseuds/CaraSavage
Summary: Hermione Granger begins a Potions apprenticeship under Severus Snape after the Battle of Hogwarts in an effort to become his friend.Just to clarify my own view on the HGSS ship, I do not condone any romantic relationship between a teacher and student. While written with their eventual romance in mind, this fanfiction will initially explore fully the aspects of their relationship that I find to be the most interesting, which is friendship and affinity.  They are both complex, smart characters who I always wanted to see interact more in the books, this fanfiction was written in an effort to satisfy that desire of mine.WIP, idk where I'm going with this really





	Affinity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slow-burn centered around Hermione and Severus, though there are many other pairings. It begins after the Battle of Hogwarts in which nobody dies (I’m also bringing Sirius back from the dead, let's pretend that he’s been with us all this time). This is generally canon-compliant up to The Deathly Hallows, I say generally because I am not referencing the books when writing this, so if there are some things I get wrong just assume it’s artistic liberty. I have zero knowledge of Latin, so my spells are literally from Google translate, just go with it.

_“Look . . . at . . . me. . . .” he whispered._

_Hermione stared over Harry’s shoulder as he leaned closer to where Professor Snape lay dying, she could feel panic rising high in her throat and with it a frantic desperation that compelled her to do something… anything. She grabbed her beaded bag, wrenched it open, and thrust a hand inside. Professor Snape’s dark eyes widened as his gaze searched Harry’s face, and blindly she groped, afraid to look away._

_Her hand brushed against smooth glass and she grasped at the small vial. Pulling it out, she glanced down to confirm the label._ Essence of Dittany _,_ _it read. Hermione heard a thud and jerked her head up to see Professor Snape grow still, his hand limp on the floor and his eyes empty._

_She froze, in her head a ticking began. Harry didn’t move from his kneeling position either, his head now bowed. She heard Ron’s breath catch behind her, and then the world was silent for a few moments until quite suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that they all started. Harry jumped to his feet, the flask of memories gripped tightly in his hands. Voldemort’s voice, which Hermione realized was magically enhanced to reach all of Hogwarts and its surrounding area, reverberated all around._

_Tick, tick, tick…_

_At that moment she didn’t care. Stepping forward, she pushed past Harry and sank to the floor beside Professor Snape. Blood seeped through her trousers, the metallic scent sent a strange jolt of clarity through her and cleared the panic from her throat. She knew she had to try… tick, tick, tick…_

_Now that she had set her purpose, her movements were quick and efficient. She cast a_ Tergeo _, and though blood immediately welled up through the large, horrible gash, she was able to see where to pour the dittany into the wound. Greenish smoke billowed up, but when it cleared Professor Snape’s neck glistened with blood and the wound looked hardly affected. Dimly Hermione registered that Voldemort was still speaking._

_Tick, tick, tick… she felt the seconds go by._

_“Accio bezoar,” the gray, wrinkled stone flew from her bag and into her hand. Moving even faster now, she tapped it with her wand. “_ Magicae Augendae _,” she intoned and felt a deep wrench in her gut as some of her magic was channeled into the bezoar to enhance its potency. She slipped the stone inside Professor Snape’s lax mouth. Her fingers found and pressed the skin underneath his jaw while with her other hand she began a complicated series of wand movements over his body._

_Tick, tick, tick… Hermione took a deep breath, called forth her magic, and with only time to hope that her knowledge of healing theory would be effective in first practice, she began the spell._

_“_ Vulnera Sanentur…Venena Extrahere...Vulnera Sanentur… _” she repeated and felt her magic rise up and leave her with each incantation.... Tick, tick tick… ribbons of blue light spilled from her wand and wound their way down to wrap around Professor Snape’s neck and chest… tick, tick, tick… she felt her energy lag and dug in determinedly, panting with the exertion of keeping it channelled… tick, tick, tick… her fingers still searched above the wound for a pulse. “Vulnera Sanentur …_ Venena Extrahere _...Vulnera Sanentur…” tick, tick, tick… tick, tick, tick… tick, tick, thump…_ thu _-thump…_ thu _-thump... Voldemort’s voice faded away._

_Hermione’s gasp at feeling the faint pulse under Professor Snape’s skin almost interrupted her litany. She twisted her head around, still keeping the spell up, looking for Harry and Ron. Harry stood looking off in the direction of Hogwarts with an unsettling blank expression. Ron was already moving toward her, and she thrust her head toward her beaded bag where it lay next to her and looked back up at him hoping he would understand what she needed without her having to speak. She could not stop now._

_Ron knelt beside her, looking apprehensive and pale, “Hermione, we need to leave,” he said, “Did you hear what You-Know-Who just said? Harry…”_

_Hermione interrupted him with another jerk of her head. “_ Vulnera Sanentur …Venena Extrahere...Vulnera Sanentur… _” she continued, her pronunciation still careful but her tone urgent._

_Ron glanced down at Professor Snape and gulped, and then looked back at Harry, “Harry,” he called out, “don’t listen to him, please… just wait a second.” He turned to Hermione and asked, “Blood replenisher?” She nodded frantically and motioned again in the direction of her bag and then turned her full attention back to the spell. She could feel the fatigue creep in, but shook it off. Ron reached forward and tipped the potion slowly into Professor Snape’s mouth, some of it bubbled out around the bezoar. Then Harry was crouched at her side, positioning his fingers around Professor Snape’s lips to keep the potion from flooding out. Together they knelt over his body, Hermione chanting the healing and poison extraction spells and Ron and Harry administering the blood replenisher and more dittany._

_Finally, Hermione felt her magic stutter, this time not from exhaustion but from a lack of a repository. She knew that there was no more she could do with magic and ended the spell. If Professor Snape was going to live, it would have to be of his own means._

_She looked at Harry, and horror once more swept through her as she registered what Voldemort had said._

_Blood seeped through her trousers, and its metallic scent was cloying. She looked at her hands and saw they were covered in blood, she looked at the floor and saw blood spilling, spreading from Professor Snape’s neck, waves of it gushed from his body and onto the floor, over her knees, filling the room. Its scent was everywhere, sticky and in her mouth, nose, roaring in her ears, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and couldn’t hear anything but that roar and through it all... tick, tick tick…_

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she lurched upright in the chair she had fallen asleep in. The feelings of panic and roaring in her ears faded quickly, but a quiet ticking sound persisted. She looked over at the old analog clock resting on the table next to the bed which she sat beside and squinted at the tarnished dial.

5:52 it read. She hadn’t dozed off for more than an hour. Her gaze then swung around the mostly empty hospital wing, only three other patients remained in beds at the other end of the room, before finally settling on the occupant of the bed in front of her. Professor Snape had not moved during her sleep. _Of course he hadn’t._ She began to take careful note of his appearance anyway.

His complexion was still sallow and pale as the sheets he lay stretched long beneath, his worryingly thin hands rested by his side. His hair was still lank and looked like oil spread out over his pillow. All this was not uncommon for Professor Snape. It was his face that had changed the most since Hermione had last seen him at the end of her sixth year. Whether as a result of stressors from the last year of the war or the toll Nagini’s wound had taken on him—she supposed it was both—he looked like he had aged twenty years. His skin was stretched thin over sharp cheekbones and hooked nose and had sunken deep in the hollows of his face, and the lines etched between his brow and around his chapped-lipped mouth had deepened to almost resemble bruises. One might charitably mistake him for dead.

 _No_ , Hermione thought, _only dying._ She leaned forward and brought her hand beneath his nearly translucent nostrils. She felt a bare whisper and looked to his chest which rose and fell in miniscule increments.

“How is he today, dear?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice came from behind her.

Hermione knew the question was only an indulgence. Madam Pomfrey was diligently attentive to the conditions of all her patients and would know immediately through the hospital wing wards if anything was amiss.

“He’s breathing,” Hermione answered and withdrew her hand.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Madam Pomfrey said with a hint of humor and walked around to the other side of the bed. Whipping out her wand, she began a series of diagnostic spells which threw out glowing numbers and arithmancy symbols in the air above different parts of  Professor Snape’s body.  Hermione watched this curiously, she could decipher all the runes’ individual translation but was still learning what medical significance their arrangements had.  

When Madam Pomfrey seemed to be finished and was scribbling on a clipboard, Hermione asked, “Do you know when the induced coma will be able to be lifted from Professor Snape?”

Madam Pomfrey peered over her clipboard down at the man between them. “Not yet, dear, is all I can say,” her countenance grew more grave, “He isn’t getting worse, but he isn’t improving either.”

“Isn’t there anything…?” Hermione began, already knowing the answer.

“Not at this point,” Madame Pomfrey replied kindly, “we’ve extracted all the venom and cleaned the wound. What remains is for his body and magic to recover. In my experience that is often the longest, hardest process. Magic can heal a lot of things, but after a point it cannot replace natural rest or replenish another’s depleted magic.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed, and then realizing that her response might seem rude, made to explain herself. “I just hate feeling useless. It’s been a month since the battle, and while I am happy to see so many others healed, it feels wrong to forget that he still isn’t.”

Madam Pomfrey was silent for a few moments and then said, “It means a great deal that you have continued to visit him, Ms. Granger. I…” she paused, her eyes growing watery, “Albus called on me to treat Severus several times these last few years while he was spying for the Order, and I suspect the times I saw him were only when Severus was unable to treat himself. He’s had to deal with so much hurt alone, it’s only right that now finally there is someone at his side.”

Hermione absorbed this and considered again Professor Snape’s appearance.  His expression was neither its usual harsh aspect or, as one in a magically induced coma ought to look, relaxed.  Instead his face, though inanimate, looked molded and hard as if reflecting an unforgiving world.  Hermione snorted internally at her poetic description, but felt a familiar surge of emotion that she wasn’t sure how to characterize.  

It wasn’t pity, though she did feel sorrow for Professor Snape, as well as all those affected by the war.  It wasn’t guilt either.  She knew Harry felt guilty about his past opinions of Professor Snape, it was obvious in the pained expression he always wore whenever he came to visit the hospital wing or the subject of Professor Snape was brought up.  Ronald seemed mostly unbothered by the revelations of the Professor’s true allegiances, though to his credit he no longer demonstrated hostility toward the man.

“Do you feel guilty, Madam Pomfrey?” Hermione asked hesitantly, gesturing towards Professor Snape, “About it all?”

“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey said simply, and at first it seemed that was all she would say. But then she continued, “I regret allowing my grief and shock at Albus’s death to feed my mistrust of Severus when he needed support the most.  I suppose we all, the staff that is, felt so betrayed.  And at the time all the proof was against him, so what were we to think? But he had still been our colleague, and before that our student. It’s dark circumstances that make people forget their history together. I just wish we had known.”

At this Hermione felt a pang of compassion for Madam Pomfrey.  They had grown close during the month after the battle after Hermione had volunteered to assist her in treating those wounded and stepped in to brew any medicinal potions needed since Slughorn had left Hogwarts the day after the battle.   Initially, the Mediwitch reminded her in a shallow way of Mrs. Weasley, but after so much time spent around her, Hermione had learned that beneath the matronly veneer Madam Pomfrey sensibilities were much less prude than one would expect, and she demonstrated an amazing capacity for understanding.  Not that Mrs. Weasley lacked those capacities, Hermione had just never felt as comfortable with her as she did with Madam Pomfrey.

“I don’t see how you could know,” Hermione said, “And I don’t think Professor Snape expected you to.  It was a difficult situation for everyone…  though that doesn’t make what happened right,” she concluded slowly.

At this Hermione was able to identify her emotion towards Professor Snape.  It was similar to the indignation which motivated her to form S.P.E.W. in her fourth year, she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.  She felt deeply and personally invested in rectifying, or at least balancing out, the wrongs that had been done to him.  It was an injustice the way he had been treated, and she couldn’t ignore that.

“No,” Madam Pomfrey said, “it wasn’t right.”


End file.
